


song without words (reverie)

by analineblue



Category: No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-05
Updated: 2011-10-05
Packaged: 2017-11-03 14:38:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four years ago, Nezumi dreamed of open windows and outstretched hands, and of warmth. Now that Shion is here he dreams of fire, of impossibly tall rows of trees laced with flames.</p>
            </blockquote>





	song without words (reverie)

**Author's Note:**

> Reading the novel translations got me thinking about Nezumi’s past and his memories of the Mao Massacre, and that eventually brought me to the idea of nightmares - the questions Shion might ask, and how that might eventually lead to Nezumi revealing parts of his past.

Four years ago, Nezumi dreamed of open windows and outstretched hands, of eyes so open and trusting that they couldn’t possibly belong to another human being, and of warmth. 

He dreamed of Shion’s room, of its vast open spaces and wide windows, and of the comfort of Shion’s bed, how he could stretch his arms out as wide as he wanted and still never reach the edge. Nezumi dreamed of all of these things, and in every dream, the Moon Drop loomed over them, over Shion’s room, through the rain, glowing outside the open window. 

He hated dreaming of No. 6, but at the same time, he longed for that warmth, for the fresh, clean scent of Shion’s bed, for cups of cocoa served with delicate, careful fingers, and searching eyes, and warmth, always warmth. 

That warmth is here now, of course. It’s curled up next to him in this tiny bed that barely fits the two of them comfortably, and it steals his covers, night after night, rolling over and clutching the blanket they share between them, tugging it so hard that half the time Nezumi’s feet are completely exposed to the chill of the fall air creeping under the doorway. 

Tonight is no exception. Nezumi flexes his toes in the cool night air, and before long his calf is exposed, and then his entire leg. He shivers. 

“Geez,” he mutters, and rolls over towards Shion, following the disappearing blanket. 

He tries to tug it free, but Shion’s grasp only tightens. 

Nezumi eventually finds himself flush up against Shion’s back. He stays because it’s warm, and the room is cold. He doesn’t know what to do with his left arm, but realizes that if he tucks it around Shion’s chest, the warmth increases exponentially. He closes his eyes. 

The old woman used to tug him close like this, after they’d first escaped so many years ago, before they’d found this place with its towers of books. They’d slept outside, under trees, and in fields until they’d finally settled in the West Block. It had been cold, and she’d held him close every night in the darkness. Sometimes she would sing to him. Nezumi remembers hot tears spilling out onto his cheeks as she rubbed bitter ointment into the wounds on his back—and how those tears almost always stopped when she started singing. He’d sing along, sometimes, when he knew the words. 

Nezumi drifts off to a half-remembered tune, to a voice not-quite forgotten, but cracked around the edges, and fading.

**

Now that Shion is here in the West Block, Nezumi no longer dreams of open windows, or Chronos, or of warmth. 

Instead, he dreams of fire. Of impossibly tall rows of trees laced with flames. Of running so fast he trips, and skins his knees, is picked up, and runs again. It’s complete chaos, but he can hear voices; he thinks he hears his name, but it’s muffled by other, louder noises. Someone - everyone maybe - is screaming. The smoke is so suffocating his eyes are burning and his throat feels like it’s coated with broken glass, and everything is so _hot_ , hotter than anything he's ever felt in his life. He can barely move, the heat is pressing him into the ground, into the dirt…

Nezumi opens his eyes and everything is bright with fire, but he’s not in the forest anymore, he’s here in the West Block, and the bed, the books, everything is burning, turning to ash. He can see Hamlet and Tsukiyo and Cravat perched over by the door, but there’s too much smoke, he can’t find Shion anywhere, can’t feel his presence at all, and it’s wrong, so very wrong, he can’t put his finger on it—and then he startles awake. 

He’s sweating, his heart hammering madly. The room comes back into focus, with its familiar shapes and spaces. 

Next to him, Shion stirs but doesn’t wake up. 

Nezumi turns over on his back and stares at the ceiling, as his heart stills. 

And he knows it was only a dream, but it’s been so long since he’s thought of that night… He has no idea what it means, that suddenly his subconscious has decided to unearth this, of all things to torture him with, but it’s utterly terrifying. 

**

“Nezumi, do you ever have nightmares?” Shion asks a few days later, over breakfast. 

Nezumi’s breath catches in his throat for a moment. He watches Shion toss a few crumbs of bread to the mice gathered next to his chair. They eagerly accept it, squeaking and chattering as Shion stares at him with wide, curious eyes. 

“What do I look like, a child?” Nezumi says finally, rolling his eyes. Then he pokes Shion in the shoulder. “Although you were tossing and turning like crazy last night – are you sure you’re not still dreaming about your mom’s cherry pies?”

Shion frowns. “I was only asking because sometimes I swear you say things in your sleep, like the other night—“

Nezumi’s chair clatters back along the floor as he stands quickly. 

“Where are you going?” 

“Work, _obviously_ ,” Nezumi says, and huffs his annoyance in Shion’s general direction. “In case you’ve forgotten, some of us have to put food on the table here instead of making up stories.”

“I wasn’t—"

“Okay, okay, fine,” Nezumi says as he throws his coat on hurriedly, and reached for his scarf. “But it’s late, I’m in a hurry. I don’t have time this today.”

Nezumi feels a tiny pang of regret at the look on Shion’s face, but he pushes it away, grabbing his things, and avoiding Shion’s eyes. 

Shion mumbles an apology, which Nezumi ignores, and then he closes the door behind him, breathing out a shaky breath against the brisk, morning air. 

**

Night comes quickly to the West Block in the winter, and as Nezumi stares into the darkness, listening to the smooth rhythm of Shion’s breath next to him, he wonders how on earth _he’s_ suddenly lost the skill of sleep, while Shion has managed to master it, despite what should still be unfamiliar, maybe even hostile surroundings. 

It’s important to be able to sleep with the onset of darkness, and rise with the sunlight, to keep up one’s strength, to get stronger. Nezumi had learned all of this a long time ago. 

But to be honest, he’s shaken. 

He hasn’t been careful enough. And he has no idea how to protect himself from words he might say in his sleep, save for not sleeping. 

He knows it’s a miscalculation; he’s not stupid, but all the same, night after night, he’s wide awake. 

Shion’s breath draws in and out next to him, a maddening rhythm, almost as maddening as the shuffle of his feet under the covers, and the look of complete and utter calm on his face. Only Shion could sleep in a place like this with such a complete and utter lack of fear. It’s more than a little disturbing that sometimes, Nezumi wishes he could be a bit more like that.

Nezumi lets out a breath, and shifts closer to Shion under the blanket. 

**

“Nezumi,” Shion whines the next morning over breakfast, and okay, maybe he’s not quite whining, it’s possible that he’s just concerned, but all the same, Nezumi lets out a frustrated breath across the table at him anyway. 

“I told you, I’m _fine_. Leave me alone already.”

“But you said you haven’t been sleeping. That’s bad!”

Nezumi takes a deep breath. “Thank you for that astute diagnosis, your majesty, but I think I’ll survive.”

“Is it my fault?” Shion asks, with those huge, ridiculous eyes of his, and Nezumi kind of wants to scream.

He glares at Shion. “Of course it’s your fault, you idiot. How do you think I’m supposed to sleep with you stealing the blanket every five seconds, and _shuffling_ your feet back and forth like you’re running a marathon?” 

Shion frowns. “I don’t shuffle my feet.” 

“Trust me, you do.” 

Shion stares into his tea for a moment. “Sorry,” he says finally. 

“Don’t—" Nezumi starts, and then realizes that Shion’s eyes are wide with surprise. He lowers his voice. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s fine. Okay?”

Nezumi grabs his coat, and then drapes his scarf around his neck in one quick, fluid movement. He smiles, and Shion frowns at him at first, and then smiles back after a moment. 

“I’ll be home at the normal time,” he says, out of habit, and ignores the tiny flutter of _something_ that seems to hang on the edge of those words. 

It’s the same sort of something that has him watching Shion’s calm sleeping face with envy, the same sort of something that every once in a while, actually makes Nezumi consider keeping his promise to Shion, from that night when he’d cut his neck open, and had sworn to tell Shion his name if he survived. At least he hadn’t followed through on _that_.

He’s not getting comfortable, he tells himself, it’s just… Well, it’s just _Shion_ , is what it is.

**

It’s late one night, hours after dinner – Shion’s read-a-long session with the neighborhood kids had started later than usual, and he’s just now finishing up, even though it’s well past dark. 

Nezumi’s eyes are starting to close on him, as Shion walks the kids outside, but he’s trying to get through this script anyway, so he soldiers on, even though he’s sure he’s not retaining a thing, the way the words are blurring together.

Suddenly, he feels something distinctly heavy and warm being draped over his back. 

He turns over on his side, and is met by Shion’s face, bright and smiling, about two inches from his nose. 

He gives Shion a confused look and sits up, shaking his head. “What’s this?” He holds up the edge of the blanket Shion just deposited on him. It’s warm, made of nice fabric. Not enhanced-fiber, but good quality, in a deep, rich shade of green. He’s never seen it before. 

“Well,” Shion says, his eyes shining. “It’s a present.” 

“Hmm.” Nezumi raises an eyebrow. “Funny, I didn’t think it was my birthday…”

Shion shakes his head. “It’s a thank-you gift, for letting me stay with you.” 

Shion smiles again, and it’s a little unnerving how completely satisfied he looks. Nezumi shifts into a more comfortable position, watching Shion. He’s not sure he remembers the last gift he’d received.

“And this way,” Shion continues, “we can each have our own, and you won’t have to worry about me stealing it all the time.”

“Okay…” Nezumi says. He blinks. Clears his throat.

Suddenly, Shion is frowning. “I know it’s not easy having me here, and when you said you couldn’t sleep because of me, I felt really bad, and so… I wanted to do something.”

Nezumi sighs. “You,” he says, leaning forward to run his hand over Shion’s head, ruffling his hair, “are an idiot.” He ignores the obnoxious way his heart is thumping in his chest. “Where’d you find this, anyway?”

“Inukashi,” Shion says. “She helped get me a good deal.” 

“Oh great,” Nezumi says sarcastically, and flops over onto his side. “I’m sure I’ll never hear the end of _that_ ,” he says, but the truth is, he could care less what Inukashi has to say about it. He presses the edge of the fabric together between his fingers and closes his eyes. It’s remarkably soft.

**

The next time Nezumi dreams of fire and smoke, of the entire forest burning, Shion is awake. He’s staring down at him and shaking his shoulders, saying his name in an urgent voice that lodges somewhere deep in Nezumi’s chest, and refuses to leave. 

Nezumi blinks up at Shion, and tries to will his heart to stop pounding. He doesn’t trust his voice, so he doesn’t say anything, just flops over onto his side, and pulls the blanket—his blanket, the one that Shion had brought home for him, a gift for something Nezumi never wanted any payment for—up to his neck. After a moment he mumbles an apology, and tells Shion to go back to sleep already, but of course Shion won’t let it go. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, and he’s leaning over Nezumi, trying to get a look at his face as he buries it further into the pillow. “What were you dreaming about?”

“None of your business!” Nezumi growls and the sound of his voice startles him. Shion too, judging by the hurt look on his face, and Nezumi just… 

He sits straight up, too quickly, swinging his feet over the bed. He closes his eyes and room spins for a second. After a moment he gets up, and grabs for his coat. 

“Nezumi—“

Nezumi doesn’t have to look at him to be able to see the look on Shion’s face. He closes his eyes. “I’m going for a walk.”

“Now? But—“

“Go back to sleep,” Nezumi says, taking care that his tone conveys the proper sentiment, which is mainly _don’t follow me or I’ll kick your ass_ , and closes the door behind him with dull thud. 

**

The air outside is downright icy, it nips against his ears, and his neck, and Nezumi regrets for a moment that in his haste, he’d forgotten his scarf. 

Now that he’s outside, of course, he finds he doesn’t really know what he’s doing here. 

This isn’t like him. This isn’t what the old woman had wanted for him. This is depending on someone; this is caring what that person in that room back there thinks about him, about his past. This is protecting Shion from all of that, or maybe it’s the other way around, maybe he’s protecting that past from Shion, from his searching eyes, and his warm body that Nezumi would do anything to protect. 

He should _know_. What he’s doing here, sharing his life with someone like this as if it’s _normal_ , but he doesn’t know what he’s doing at all, he’s just _doing_ it, and it’s… Terrifying? Liberating? Nezumi lets out a breath into the icy air and watches it take shape, form a cloud and float away from him in the darkness.

Surprisingly, it doesn’t take him long to calm down, and by the time he’s done one broad, brisk loop down over the hill, and back again, his heart is beating normally, the tension fading away along with the tiny huffs of breath after they leave his lips. 

Whatever violent acts had brought him here, Nezumi had always liked the West Block, with its rocky hills, and wide open spaces.

He starts in surprise when, at the top of the hill, he sees Shion standing in front of him. His coat is unbuttoned, hanging open haphazardly, and he’s holding Nezumi’s scarf. Nezumi’s throat clenches unexpectedly at the look on his face. He picks up his pace, jogging up to meet Shion.

“You forgot this,” Shion says, handing over the scarf. “You’re cold, right?”

“Says the guy who can’t even button up his coat properly.” Nezumi gestures to Shion’s open coat, as he takes the scarf from his hands. 

Shion doesn’t say anything else. Just stares at him for a moment before he turns to leave.

“Wait,” Nezumi says, grabbing Shion’s arm suddenly, and then letting it go a second later, when Shion turns back to face him. “You didn’t have to come out here. But thanks,” he says, “for this.”

Shion shakes his head. “You’ll get sick wandering around out here with your neck exposed.”

Nezumi chuckles. “I think I’m a bit tougher than that, but thanks.” 

Nezumi stares out at the horizon, at the light hovering behind a film of darkness up in the sky. 

“It’ll be morning soon,” he says, as he reaches around behind his head to tie his scarf into a knot. 

Shion is buttoning up his coat, his fingers fumbling from being exposed to the cold. Inside Nezumi’s chest, his heart is picking up its pace in a familiar rhythm. He stares up at the sky. At the horizon. 

“Want to see something?” he asks Shion suddenly. 

He doesn’t wait for an answer, just grabs Shion’s hand, not really thinking of anything except that the pads of Shion’s fingers, even the palm of his hand feels different now than it had when he’d first arrived in the West Block. He has rough, dry patches on his hands now, and Nezumi can’t figure out why this makes him both stupidly proud and a little sad at the same time. Shion’s fingers close around his hand, and Nezumi feels a surge of energy rush through him. 

Having Shion here changes everything, it always has, he thinks, and there’s no follow up to that, nothing except Shion’s hand pressed against his, and the sunrise that he knows is coming. They’ll have to hurry if they want to make it in time. 

**

Nezumi watches Shion stare out over the landscape below them. 

His eyes are wide as he turns to Nezumi. 

“It’s beautiful,” he says quietly. “Thanks for bringing me here.” 

Nezumi shrugs. “Well, we were awake anyway. It seemed silly to waste the sunrise when we were already halfway here.”

This place really isn’t anything special, just the top of a particularly well-situated hill, but Nezumi had been here once before around daybreak, and the view was… well, Nezumi had found it inspiring, found that it cleared his head of the junk that was always floating around in there, that it allowed him a certain clarity of mind. Not something to be scoffed at these days. He’s not sure what’s going on in Shion’s head, but he seems to be enjoying it too, if the look on his face is any indication. 

From the angle here, he can just about see over the top of the wall separating No. 6 from the West Block - the roofs of the houses spread into a blended canvas of shapes below them. Nezumi can just barely make out the tops of the trees over the wall. Chronos. 

He turns to Shion, and points over the wall. 

“See those trees there?”

The morning sun is rising in front of them, illuminating more of the landscape, bathing it in a yellow-orange glow. 

“If I’m having nightmares, it’s probably about that place.”

Shion’s eyes widen. “That place… Chronos?”

“It wasn’t always called that. A long time ago, there was a village in the forest there.”

“Nezumi, is that where you lived? Before you came here?”

Nezumi nods, as the sun brightens over the city. 

“Before it burned, yeah. I lived there,” he says, and next to him, Shion moves a little closer, so that they’re shoulder to shoulder, staring out over the wall. 

**

The next time Nezumi wakes up in the middle of the night, his hands grasp instinctively for Shion, for the warmth of his body, for the comfort of his presence. 

Half-asleep, Shion whispers his name and rolls over, wrapping his arms around Nezumi’s chest so that he can barely move, and then he pulls both blankets over them until the warmth is practically suffocating. 

“It’s nothing,” Nezumi says. “Go back to sleep.”

“There must be something I can do,” Shion says, and then gasps out a tiny _Ah!_ against Nezumi’s neck, as if he’s just figured something out. “I could sing to you. But I don’t know very many songs,” Shion says softly, sounding disappointed. 

Nezumi rolls his eyes in the darkness, and squirms a little. He knew he’d regret telling Shion some of the things he’d shared with him at some point. 

“You really don’t have to sing,” he tells him, slowly, as if he’s speaking to a small child. 

“But the old woman, you said she—"

Nezumi lets out a long breath. 

“Nezumi?”

“Yes, Shion?”

“Just listen. There’s one I can maybe manage.” 

And Shion’s arms tighten around Nezumi’s chest, and Nezumi lets out another breath and then figures _fuck it_ and just relaxes. To be honest, he’s been curious for a while about Shion’s singing voice, what certain melodies might sound like, coming from those lips.

“I don’t remember the words, but my mom used to sing this to me when I was little,” he says, and he’s so close, Nezumi can feel the vibrations on his skin as Shion begins to hum out an unfamiliar tune into the darkness. 

He closes his eyes. The song is a bit haunting, especially without words like this, but it’s comforting at the same time, a strange sort of lullaby. 

It fits Shion perfectly. Nezumi thinks that Shion may be the strangest person he’s ever met, to be able to lie here in the darkness like this, humming a song without words, completely free of embarrassment. 

Also, Shion’s voice, even through closed-lips like this, is lovely.

After a moment, Shion finishes. 

“How was it?” he asks, his breath ghosting over Nezumi’s skin, and making him shiver a little. 

“Well, I’ve completely forgotten my nightmare now,” Nezumi says drily. “That was your intent, right?”

Nezumi can practically feel the frown on Shion’s face. “Well…”

Shion’s hand is resting on Nezumi’s chest – Nezumi grips it tightly. “You have a nice voice.”

“But I wasn’t singing.” 

“Doesn’t matter,” Nezumi says, and leans back against Shion’s chest. “Every note was perfectly in tune. You’re a natural.” 

“I like your voice much better,” Shion says, shuffling his feet around so that they’re completely entangled with Nezumi’s. 

“Of course you do,” Nezumi says, and with his toe, he pokes at Shion’s ankle. “I’ve had proper training, you know.”

“You’re good at everything,” Shion says sleepily, and presses his nose against Nezumi’s neck. It’s soft, and a little chilly, and it’s everything that Nezumi knows will be his complete downfall. 

This person next to him, who can disarm him in an instant… 

This should be far more terrifying than any nightmare, and it is, but somehow he’s here anyway. And Nezumi has told Shion off so many times for being too open, for being too nice, too accommodating, for leaving himself vulnerable, over and over and over, but sometimes Nezumi wonders… If it’s really Shion after all, or if it’s _him_. 

He shudders, a rough, jarring movement that breaks his contact with Shion, and removes that warmth for second. Nezumi feels the momentary absence like a missing limb, a dull ache deep in his chest. 

And then Shion shifts, flops over next to him, both blankets trailing in his wake, exposing Nezumi’s back to the bitter, drafty cold. 

Nezumi lets out a long breath, and rolls over towards Shion, in search of that warmth, as always. 

**end**   



End file.
